


Recently Featured Amateur Solo Male Gay Porn Videos Longer Than 10 Minutes

by JacquiHex



Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 15:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18284711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacquiHex/pseuds/JacquiHex
Summary: A relaxing, after-work jerk-off session takes a risky turn when Adam gets a FaceTime call from the very coworker he was fantasizing about.On a whim, he takes the call.





	Recently Featured Amateur Solo Male Gay Porn Videos Longer Than 10 Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy folks, back at it again with a dose of fancy boys! This was gonna be a solo Adam piece based on [this beautiful photo](http://poiregourmande.tumblr.com/post/170148436044/rare-ish-pictures-of-the-worth-it-boys-30), and then my gay ass went and threw in Me Ship. I cannot change this about me.
> 
> Endless thanks to [poiregourmande](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poiregourmande) for giving me the impetus to both start _and_ actually finish this. 💖
> 
> Enjoy!! Also Buzzfeeders do not interact

Adam languishes in the comfort of his living room couch, the ottoman attachment giving him room to lay nearly horizontal. He stretches out across the length of the cushions and then relaxes, lies boneless, feeling his muscles practically melt.

He licks his lips and sighs softly in anticipation. He props his laptop up on a pillow at his side, types in his password,  and opens an incognito tab.

He’s still dressed in the clothes he wore to work: comfortable jeans and warm socks, a pink button-down shirt with subtle little pinstripes. He browses his favorites with one hand while the other drags feather-light circles into his lower stomach, tugging little folds into his shirt. He’s not hard in his jeans yet, but the steady pulse under his skin is alight with mild interest. He never rushes this anyways, and after the day he’s had? He wants to take his sweet time more than ever.

He’s pretty sure other people his age don’t bother dawdling like he does, pulling up some of his favorite videos at a whim and watching them with lazy enjoyment without touching himself. But for him, porn isn’t just a means to an end. He genuinely enjoys the private collection he’s curated, because he never could settle for just any old content. Every video needs to have something he can’t find somewhere else: exquisite lighting or camera work, thoughtful pacing and editing, a passion between the participants so strong it comes through on film.

Those are the more, ah, respectable examples of reasons he’ll bookmark something. He pauses the one he’s watching—a lovely solo shot of a solid-bodied guy rutting eagerly into a fleshlight—and navigates back to his collection. The situation has evolved, his cock starting to really swell against the denim. He lets that tension marinate for now, takes a minute instead to undo the front of his shirt so he has access to his torso while he browses.

He pretends like he’s really debating, exploring his options, but deep down he already knows which one he’s going to watch next. Once he gets to this point, ready to reach down and give himself a gentle squeeze, it’s a similar routine every time. As the hardness against his zipper becomes more present and insistent, he gradually loses the sense to feel ashamed for these videos he has saved.

They’re usually amateur, because the actors cast in professional shoots never look close enough. Not quite real.

Real. Ha. As if  _ authenticity _ is the reason he keeps coming back to these.

They’re amateur because it means he has a much higher chance of finding guys who look familiar enough from the lips down. This one, for example. Dimples bracketing a flushed, sweet smile; forearms with enough definition to speak to whatever manual labor his life involves besides jerking off for the internet in his spare time. A trail of golden-brown fuzz directing the viewer’s gaze to a dick that—while Adam lacks frame of reference here—he imagines is accurate enough, turgid and rosy, curved delectably and jutting out of soft, dusky curls. The square angles of his knuckles look exquisite in contrast against the roundness of his cock. Artistically speaking, of course.

Adam sighs, and the air stutters as it leaves his nose. The soft muscles of his belly are tensing and twitching under the pads of his fingertips. The tightness of his jeans is moving past uncomfortable into slightly painful, so he opens a video he’d really decided on hours ago, at his desk at work, and fiddles with his button and fly while it loads. It starts playing by the time his erection is exposed and lying in relief against his abdomen.

Adam hums, knowing by the sound of it and the strain in his throat that he’ll be whining really early on tonight. The shot opens up on another dude, and Adam drags his hand up the underside of his cock, gathering a palmful of precome from the tip.

This guy is an example of the other type Adam looks for, in these more dishonorable moments of his. A lithe, tanned body that’s thin enough to show off his height but soft enough that he doesn’t look too bony. Lean but capable muscles that show in quick flashes of definition whenever he uses them. This guy doesn’t show any of himself above the collarbone, which is fine. Adam prefers to fill in the face with his imagination, anyway.

He allows himself to gently tug at his dick at precisely the same pace as the guy on screen, who he knows from watching this a hundred times will be spending the next seven minutes teasing himself into desperation. Adam moans softly as he takes in the guy’s hands and wrists that work in controlled, elegant swipes over his dick—his wrist bones are pronounced, and every time his fingers roll, Adam can watch the tendons match each twitch and movement on the back of his hand.

Adam hums again, revealing the whine that’s definitely taken up residence in his voice. He purses his lips in an attempt to stave off words, because once he gets started, he doesn’t stop. But all it takes is for him to swipe his tongue over his lips, parting them, and he can’t hold it back anymore.

He breathes the name out softly, like he would in front of the camera. “Steven.”

Already, he’s a thousand times closer. Back before all this had started, he’d thought that was the only option: taking up a relentless pace and coming, gasping, less than ten minutes into a random video, no more winded than he’d be after jogging to catch the elevator. But with practice and the right motivation, he’s learned that even though he feels tense and ready, he still has a lot more left in him. His neck breaks into a sweat with the effort of restraint, but he exercises patience, matching the pace of Steven’s lookalike.

_ ‘Yeah,’ _ the guy says, breathy and beautiful. A thrill runs down Adam’s spine, the same as it does every time, at that first uttered word. Adam’s body knows this video by heart, knows what that simple  _ ‘yeah’ _ signals.

Adam’s picked up the habit—an admittedly embarrassing one that he’ll take with him to his grave—of holding a dialogue with them. He’s got a healthy imagination, one that enables him to narrow his focus down to just himself and the man on the screen until it feels like they’re in the same room. His voice tremors when he murmurs, “How’s that feel, babe?” and his cock twitches desperately when the whispered “response” comes immediately.

_ ‘Feels so good.’ _ And then,  _ ‘Want you so bad, god.’ _

“Want you too, Steven,” Adam whimpers, lets his head drop back, baring his throat. He continues stroking himself to the beat of the slick sounds coming from the video, dips his other hand down to cup his balls and roll them in his fingers. He swallows heavily, listens to the guy’s breathing speed up as if in response, as if he sees Adam and wants him. Imagines Steven drinking in the sight of him with heated eyes, hears his gasping  _ ‘Oh, oh,’ _ and the sound of his hand speeding up. Adam bites his lip in a way he thinks is tempting.

He’s drowning in all the right sensory input, but there’s still an itch that isn’t being scratched. For all his searching, he’s never been able to find a video with two of them together, one lookalike of each. He’s just considering hunting one down when a facetime call comes in on his phone.

When he grabs it to put it on silent and get back to his porn, he looks at the name on the screen and his heart skips a beat—it’s Andrew.

Adam knows better, of course he does. Normally. But his brain doesn’t have a lot of cylinders firing right now. The idea pops into his head, his cock throbs twice in his grasp, and his mind is made up already. He mutes his laptop and leaves the video playing, frantically fastens the buttons on his shirt—decides, in a moment of boldness, to leave the last two undone—and then answers the call.

His heart stops for a full three seconds when he’s faced with the real thing: his friend Andrew, looking relaxed and slightly mischievous. The sight of his grin triggers and reinforces Adam’s fantasy, the fantasy reinforcing the sight, and so on, in a dizzying feedback loop of increasing  _ want. _

“What’s up, Adam?” Andrew says, voice scratchy over the connection, and Adam’s breath hitches before he can control it.

He’s quick to recover. He smiles easily, making sure to reply with enough of a sarcastic edge to make it feel familiar to Andrew. He strokes his cock once to practice doing it without reacting visibly, and then slumps down into the couch cushions even further. “You here to intrude on the time I use to unwind?” he murmurs, and thinks it comes across smooth as ever.

And yet, he still sees Andrew pause. It’s such a microreaction—Adam hates to admit he reads into it, feels like he’s grasping at straws for the smallest hint or sign that Andrew knows how he feels. But honestly? He and Andrew  _ do _ work that way. They can read the slightest cues in each other. It’s brought them closer together than Adam has ever been to many of his other friends, and unfortunately it does make things dangerously difficult to hide.

Case in point: Andrew hesitating, just for a split second. Adam doesn’t miss the way his eyebrows twitch just a bit inward, his eyes flickering over Adam’s face and neck. He’s visibly working through the puzzle of what Adam’s own idiosyncrasies say about him right now. But it’s over in a flash, and then they’re more or less chatting easily, falling into familiar, understated banter.

Adam’s attention flickers back to the laptop every so often while they talk, checking how far along Steven’s lookalike is in leaning back and working himself open with practiced fingers. Glimpses of the guy’s throat reveal that he’s speaking steadily as he does so. Adam keeps his slow pace as the conversation with Andrew goes on, careful not to move too fast or push himself close enough to the edge to give himself away.

At least, so he thinks. Maybe it’s the flush on his cheeks that he can’t hide (“Yeah, it was really warm in here when I got home,” he insists, Andrew responding with a vague  _ hmph), _ or the way he keeps losing track of his face and finds himself breathing with parted lips before he can avoid his mistake. Whatever it is that ultimately gives him away—who knows, Andrew could have known what he was doing all along—it’s during a lull in their conversation that Andrew’s eyes flit minutely back and forth over Adam’s face, and he takes in a calm breath before demanding, softly but firmly:

“Show me, Adam.”

Adam doesn’t show him. He’s frozen from head to toe, and sure,  _ now _ his face decides to drain of all its blood. His hand stills at the base of his dick, which is now even more invested in things, the traitor. He gapes wordlessly at Andrew.

His friend chuckles low on the other line. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” And then Adam  _ really _ can’t breathe, because Andrew is pulling his phone away from his face, switching to the outward-facing camera to reveal a sight that Adam has only ever been able to imagine until now. Past the hem of his t-shirt, he’s only wearing boxers, the fabric tented dramatically and slightly damp at its peak. He hears a soft exhale and the sliding of fabric before Andrew’s free hand comes into frame and gently tugs the boxers down, taking himself in a firm grip and stroking steadily a few times before switching the camera back.

Adam knows he looks dumbstruck, but can he really be blamed?

Actually, yeah, that would be fair. He  _ is _ the guy who answered a video call while jerking off.

“Couldn’t help myself,” Andrew admits, biting his lip as he does something that clearly feels wonderful. “I  _ thought _ you were, you know, and god, Adam—I’ve thought about this before. Not just once, plenty of times. Have you…?”

Unbidden, the truth spills off of Adam’s tongue. “Yes,” he whispers.

Andrew’s eyes darken. Maybe it’s just him ducking his face away from the light. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”

“Mmm. Ah...” Andrew’s composure hits a slight bump, a silent moan that shapes his mouth into an ‘O’ for a moment. “Show me?” he says again, less demanding than before.

Adam shows him, this time. He shows Andrew everything. He switches cameras, shows Andrew where he’s still rock hard and leaking, the video playing silently on the laptop at his side. Adam watches Andrew’s mouth go slack, his shoulder and bicep start to move a little more obviously in the frame.

“That looks… kind of like Steven,” Andrew says bluntly. Adam flushes; he hadn’t thought it was that obvious. “Oh my god. Is that—is this what I think it…?”

“There’s others,” Adam admits softly. “Not just—mm—just him. I’ve got…”

Andrew’s eyes go a little vacant. Adam wonders whether he’s looking at his dick or at the porn. “You watch any that look like me?”

Adam whimpers, the admission setting something off in him. He pumps his cock, still in time with the pace that Steven’s lookalike rides his own fingers.

That detail doesn’t escape Andrew’s notice. “Fuck,” he says over the phone, fervent and surprised. Adam wonders what he sounds like when he’s getting close, if it sounds anything like this. “Adam. You don’t have to settle for that. I’d let you fuck me—god, you could fuck me whenever, no questions asked—”

Wonders what he sounds like when he comes, decides he needs to know for certain.

“Wanted to,” Adam grits out, and then the words come in a rush. “I’ve wanted to for so long, Andrew. You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you are, how much I’ve wished—”

“Yeah?” Andrew is looking steadily more debauched, and Adam realizes it’s just from what he’s saying. He’s gasping quietly, now, voice low and scratchy. “What about me?”

Adam blows out a puff of air.  _ “Jesus, _ everything. You’re so damn handsome, your shoulders and chest are just…” He feels the urge to start babbling, thinks he could answer that question for hours. “The way you look at me sometimes, your eyes,  _ fuck. _ And shooting the show is torture, having to watch you two look and sound the way you do while you eat…”

Andrew listens, looking hungrier and hungrier.

“Adam… Let me see your face.” Adam does.

Andrew groans, an almost frustrated noise, and continues. “Tell me what you’ve thought about doing to me.”

Adam flushes a deep red. The part of him that would ask Andrew if he’s sure he wants to know the answer to that is currently distant and hard to hear, his pulse too loud and overwhelming in his ears.

He pulls his phone a little closer to his face. “Andrew,” he moans. “So many things. I’ve thought about being able to run my hands all over you, touch wherever I want. I’ve thought about undressing you nice and slow, or as fast as I can, or leaving everything on and just unzipping your jeans so I can suck you off.”

Andrew is gasping out quiet breaths, not making much noise, but he looks desperate. “You ever think about it on shoots?” he asks.

“All the time,” Adam admits. “Sometimes I just wanna crawl under the table and see if the camera can tell the difference between which thing you’re enjoying. Wanna kneel underneath your desk at the office and blow you right there. Let you fuck my face and come down my throat so you can get right back to work without having to clean any mess.”

Andrew throws his head back and growls, the image of him jostling as his body jerks through his orgasm. His face is drawn up in a grimace but it looks lovely that way, and Adam takes a mental picture for the future. The movement of his shoulder tells Adam how desperately he’s working himself over, that he likes it fast and rough up until the very last moment.

Adam can’t stop running through one of his favorite fantasies, now that he’s so close and it’s halfway to real now. “Both of you,” he gasps out. “I think about sucking you both off—or riding you, or jerking you both at the same time. And you look so good right now, so gorgeous, more perfect than I’ve ever imagined,  _ fuck—!” _

And that’s it, Adam’s coming, Andrew softly urging him on through wave after wave of sensation as it crashes over him, beats him down into the couch. Only once he starts to come down does he realize  _ what _ Andrew’s saying, and it practically bowls him over to hear it in real life.

“...wait to just destroy you,” he’s murmuring, lips plump and voice molten hot. “Just take you in my hand and bring you to the edge but not over it, again and again, babe, and then give you what you need. And fuck, Steven might join in. You could really have this, baby, you know that?”

Adam is reeling, still lightheaded from coming. The words only sort of make sense, but they all sound so wonderful, so he moans and nods, tips his head back to let out a deep breath.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Andrew chokes out over the line, and then Adam’s eyes are snapping back to his phone screen. Post-coital Andrew looks like a renaissance subject, shadows in sharp relief on his face as he breathes out Adam’s name like a prayer. His lips are so shiny and appealing, and Adam is suddenly desperate to feel them on his own.

“God,” he parrots back weakly, both of them trying to catch their breath. “Andrew…”

“Mmm.” Andrew laughs as his eyes open enough to gaze back at Adam through the phone, looking as fond as Adam ever sees him. He’s realizing now that the whole time, that look has been for  _ him. _ He put that look there.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Andrew teases, shaking Adam out of his daze. “I was that good, huh?”

“Don’t ruin it,” Adam says softly, like he says things on the show. “You still could be.”

“Okay, smartass, like that wasn’t so hot I just watched your brain melt.” Andrew chuckles, then softens and looks closer at Adam. “Hey, you okay?”

Adam bites his lip but nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that was—great.”

Andrew surprises him, which is becoming a pattern, when he shakes his head and goes, “Don’t lie to me, Bianchi. What’s wrong?”

But Adam doesn’t  _ know. _ This was basically a fantasy come to life, and the only thing that could have improved it was if just one more person had been involved. But now that thought makes his gut twist unpleasantly at how far-off it really feels. Having phone sex with Andrew sort of puts things into perspective, that it was the first time any of this has been  _ real. _ He’s been pining after his coworkers so hard for the last few years that it’s come to him thinking about them without fail when he so much as jerks off to wind down, and just because this one thing happened with Andrew just now doesn’t mean he necessarily has what he really wants.

Adam feels lost, a little guilty, and a lot unsure; he doesn’t actually know what Andrew wants from this, despite what he’d said in the heat of the moment—let alone what Steven is going to think. He wonders these things until Andrew’s voice catches his attention by firmly saying,  _ “Adam.” _

Adam draws in an abrupt breath and refocuses on the screen he’d been staring through. He fixates on Andrew like a lifeline while he struggles to find words for the concern that’s winding its way around his ribs and up his throat, until Andrew’s soothing voice keeps it all at bay: “Can I come over?”

The breath Adam’s been restraining whistles past his lips, taking all his tension with it. ‘Can I,’ not ‘should I.’ Not ‘do you want,’ or even ‘do you need.’  _ Can I come over. _

“Please,” Adam laughs, relieved, and Andrew goes bright and delighted.

“Be there in thirty,” he promises, and Adam feels himself tipping forward into the realm of progress for the first time in several wistful years.

**Author's Note:**

> Come appreciate Adam and Andrew at me on tumblr, I’m [fervidusships](https://fervidusships.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
